Stolen Caress
by Perverted Pages
Summary: Spike can't find his duster, and has to play a game to get it back. Pairing:Spuffy


He couldn't find his coat. He'd looked all over his crypt, even snuck into the Summers' house to peek about, and it was just… gone. How his leather duster could have possibly walked away without him noticing was beyond him, and it was really starting to piss him off!

He was about to storm off into the night to beat the shit out of anything that didn't get out of his way fast enough when he caught a scent. _Bloody hell?_

He eased open his crypt door and saw a night blooming jasmine flower pinned to a scrap of paper. He frowned and picked it up, curious.

"Follow my trail" was all it said.

Spike scowled, "follow _what_ trail…?" He stood up and realized there was a trail, a trail of sweet jasmine scent. A slow lascivious smirk teased his lips, easing away the worried frown when he realized the paper smelled like his duster, leather smoke and whiskey. _So… whoever has my duster wants me to play a game, is that it? Bloody hell… let's play then, and if I don't like where the game is going, I'll bloody well make up my own._

He took a deep breath, trying to catch the scent of whoever was orchestrating this, but the pungent scents of jasmine and his duster covered everything. Now and again he thought he caught something familiar, but the cool night breeze pulled it away.

He followed the scent trail sedately, trying not to attract attention to himself. He felt naked and conspicuous without his leather duster; it was his shield against the world, the mask of the Big Bad. When the tang of saltwater hit his senses, he frowned. Sea air could easily overpower jasmine and leather… and that was when he looked down and saw a trail of jasmine flowers. Whoever it was playing this game didn't want it to end due to technicalities, and obviously knew a vampire's sense limitations quite well. This could prove interesting should an enemy be pulling his strings.

The trail of flowers lead him to a beach front property, and a sprig of blooms was tied to the front door door-handle with a bright red ribbon. Spike walked up cautiously, looking about him for any traps or waiting meanies, but it seemed safe enough. He picked up the bow from the door handle and realized it was attached to a ribbon that led into the house.

_Curioser and curioser…_. Here he paused. To go forward and into the den of whomever it was that was playing this game or go back to his crypt. The swiftly approaching dawn made him scowl. Time had slipped by without his realizing it, and he had nowhere that he could hide out from the deathly rays of the sun near here. He **had** to go in. _Well, worse comes to worse; I kill whoever's in here and take over the house for the day. Alright fine! Not kill, can't kill, scare 'em down to the basement! That's what I'll do! Lock 'em in tight and sleep the day away in a closet upstairs if need be. _

He eased the door open carefully, peeking about inside and wondered if he'd be able to cross over the threshold. So far his follow the leader playmate had well anticipated his vampiric limitations, but would they have thought it out this far?

He stepped boldly over the threshold. _Yup, 'parently they have._ He looked cautiously about, but it seemed like any other beach front rental. To his left there was wicker living room furniture, beige carpet, and white walls. The kitchen faced off the living/dining room and an island bar separated them. A large wooden deck could be seen off the living room, with stairs leading off to the beach. Directly in front of him were stairs leading up, and along those stairs was the red ribbon. Spike shut the door quietly behind him and made his way up the stairs, moving silently regardless of the bulky Dock Martin's on his feet.

He followed the ribbon up to the main bedroom, breathing in the scent of the sea, jasmine, and his duster on a breeze. He narrowed his pale blue eyes, his lip curling into a mild snarl of annoyance. He was annoyed. He'd played along, followed the trail, and some wacko had stolen his _duster_ for goodness sake! He stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door open, and slipped into game face, only to pull to a sudden stop when some things finally filtered into his brain.

The room was lit with candles, giving everything a soft gentle light. Long stemmed roses with the thorns still attached adorned the large silk strewn bed, and that made him pause. Something about the thorns was tickling at his memory. When the image finally came to him, of Buffy bent over his knee while he whipped her arse with the long stem, blood perfuming and spraying into the air while she screamed and bucked and writhed and beg for more, he lost his demons face. He remembered how she'd cried out in pure ecstasy when he'd tossed her on the bed to fuck her on the roses, the thorns scratching and ripping at her soft golden skin… It was a game she rarely played, but now and again she needed the pain, feeling pain was better then feeling nothing at all.

There were shackles attached to the wrought iron bed frame, and an assortment of pain implements arrayed on the bench at the foot of the bed… but the thing that stole his unneeded breath away was the sight of Buffy on the balcony, wearing his duster, black panties with matching strapless bra, and thigh high latex boots. She was dressed to play her favorite game, and with that sultry expression on her face she knew how good she looked.

"I stole your precious duster, Spike. Are you going to punish me for it? Are you going to make me pay?" Her stance was one of seduction and confidence, but there was a silent pleading in her eyes. She needed this, she knew it, he knew it, and she knew he had all the control. He could easily say no to her pleas, easily just grab the coat and go hide out in another room if he wanted. She was desperate, and that stench nearly overwhelmed the alluring scent of her arousal and need.

He walked up to her, taking long strides, eating the distance between them quickly. He grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her into the room, one hand quickly closing the sliding door and thick drapes, while the other one held her tight against his cool body, rubbing his rigid denim clad cock against her mostly bare hip.

"You better believe it, Slayer…" Not like he could ever deny her anything she asked of him…


End file.
